Another Day At Work Part 2 (Adult Content)

She laid against her desk, unable to move.  The weight of him pushed up against her held her motionless, her arm twisted behind her, her other arm caught between her and the desk.  She could feel his heartbeat in her back as he pushed his face against her ear. 
“Don’t pretend.  You know you’re going to love this,” he growled.
She heard his zipper being pulled down and then felt her jeans being torn down, the sound of ripping fabric filling the room.  Her breath hitched and her heart raced. She wanted so desperately to say no, but she wanted to scream yes.  She couldn’t move, and beneath her fear she reveled in it.
He kicked her legs apart and felt the chill of the air hit her wet pussy.  His fingers groped between her legs and suddenly they were inside her.
“You’re so wet.  I knew you wanted this.”
Her legs twitched as his finger swirled around her clit and she began to moan.
“Did I say you could speak?” He snapped at her.  She bit her lip to stop the sound as he pushed harder against her.  He pushed so hard that she felt her hip bones slam into the desk and her eyes started to water.
“Now you want to cry?” he cooed in her ear.  “I’ll fucking give you something to cry about!” He reached behind her and she felt her him slam into her, his cock filling her instantly and she cried out in pain and pleasure. 
“I didn’t say you could speak!” he barked as he slammed harder and harder into her.  She tried to keep quiet but each thrust brought another moan to her throat.
“Please,” she whimpered but he cut her off.
“Please what?  You want more?  Take it bitch!” he growled at her as he pushed harder and deeper.  She felt her hips bounce off the desk and back into him as he put all his weight on top of her.  Her face still smashed into the keyboard as he held her head still. She pushed harder and harder and her legs quivered.  She felt the pressure building in her pussy each time his cock filled her deeper until finally it was too much and she let out a scream of ecstacy.
“Please,” she panted.  Could she handle any more?  She didn’t know, but part of her wanted to find out.
Her legs shook as he slammed one last time and held deep inside her.  He exhaled deeply as he slowly slid out of her. 

To be continued …


Another Day At Work (Adult Content)

She got to work like any other day, put her purse in her desk and sat down to begin her day. No one else was there yet; she’s an early bird searching for her worm.  The quiet hum of the computers filled the room until the loud thud of a door closing echoed against her ears.  She didn’t know who it was and her mind quickly raced.  No one should be here yet so who could it be?  The sun wasn’t even out yet and it would be at least an hour before the first of her coworkers would be arriving.
A quiet “hi” arose behind her before she could register that a person was standing next to her. A familiar voice she had heard so many times before.  She turned quickly to see him standing there.  Why was he here so early?   He shouldn’t be here. She felt goosebumps start to rise on her skin but she couldn’t find the words to explain why they were there. 
“Hi,” she replied softly. “Good morning,” she continued as she turned to face him. He was so close she could feel his breathe on her skin.  She wanted to move back but was cornered between him and the desk.  He towered over her.  He was all she could see.
“I’ve watched you, but you already knew that.  You’ve seen me, caught me even,” he smirked as he stared into her. She could feel his eyes burning into her. She was scared and felt her body tensing. Her stomach tightened and she felt a tingling sensation between her legs. What could he want?  Why was he here?  She knew he had watched her before, trying to stare at her before she caught him. His eyes had wandered each time she had spoken to him before.  She felt his stare when she had turned away from him then.  Now there was nowhere to turn.
“What would you do …” he started slowly as he reached for her hair.  He brushed it away from her face and she recoiled from his touch. His hand was warm but she knew this wasn’t right.  The tingling between her legs got more intense and she couldn’t explain why.  She tried to think of something to say but her mind was racing and no words could escape her lips.  She knew he was no stranger to this and her heart pounded. 
“What would you do if I took you now,” he said quietly. His voice was soft but his eyes burned into her and she knew there was nowhere to go.  He was stronger than her; she didn’t stand a chance.  What if she said no?  Would it matter?  Did she even want to say no?  Her head said she did but the feeling between her legs said otherwise.  He brushed her cheek with a heavy hand and this time she didn’t pull away.  Her eyes closed and she exhaled deeply.  His thumb brushed her lip as he held her face so small in his strong hand.  She could feel the insatiable testosterone fueled sexual rage radiating from him and it frightened her, but what scared her more was the want she now felt inside her.  What could she do other than let him do what he would with her?
“There’s nowhere you can go and no one to hear you,” he said as the smirk turned to a sadistic grin.  She focused on it and in a split second her had grabbed her hand, pulled her from her chair and positioned her against her desk.  He held her arm tightly against her back with his other hand gripped tightly in her hair holding her face down against the keyboard.  He was so quick that she didn’t have time to react.  She felt the pressure of him pushing behind her, felt the rise of his intentions against her ass.  She tried to let out a sound but all she could do was gasp.  She felt herself getting wet even though she knew it was wrong. She wanted to push away but the weight of him behind her kept her still. 
“You know you want this, you’re a tease.  You’re practically begging for it,” he whispered in her ear. 

To be continued …

L’OREAL Paris Review

loreal pic

I received this product from Influenster free for testing purposes

It’s time for another product review!  Influenster sent me L’Oreal Paris brands new Smooth Intense line of products to test out and let all of you know if it’s the new must have or simply another let down for those of us with some crazy locks.

First thing is first: L’Oreal’s description.  This line is intended for those of us who straighten or other wise damage our hair with flat irons and blow dryers regularly (check) and have unruly or frizzy hair (check).  They say the new Smooth Intense Ultimate Straight line can protect your hair and leave it full, soft and smooth for 48 hours when using the complete system and say that it will never leave your hair looking dull or limp.  Ok, so we’ve all heard that before and if you’re like me and color your hair regularly (this includes every color under the rainbow) then products like this can be nerve-racking.  Color can be so delicate when using new cleaning products on your tresses that trying anything that’s not time-tested after a color can be as stressful as life or death.

Let me give you a little insight as to my hair situation.  I’ve been coloring my hair for about 9 years and regularly curl, flat-iron, blow dry, and all around destroy my hair.  Currently it’s dyed red and I just got my roots done a few days ago so you can imagine my nervousness about trying a new shampoo that’s not specifically for color.  I also work at a dry cleaners so it’s about as hot and humid as a Florida vacation in the middle of the summer and my hair feels the elements every bit as much as the rest of me so frizz is a major issue for me.  I also have a few chunks of hair that (since I cut it shorter) wants to be curly while the rest wants to hang limp.  (Yeah, I’m that dork who, on the rare occasion that I run out early int he morning before dolling myself up, looks like she just lost a fight to a very large fan with her head.)  So…on to the product.

So I tried the complete system yesterday.  First I shampooed, which left my hair feeling extremely soft compared to my normal shampoo.  Simple enough.  Then I used the Pre-Conditioner which, as instructed, I left on for about a minute and then, without rinsing, added the conditioner and let it all sit on for about 4 minutes, or the length of time it took me to suds up and wash my face.  Then I rinsed.  I know wet hair can feel deceiving, but I was shocked at how smooth it felt compared to the regular split end feeling I usually have.  (That feeling kind of like horse hair that’s layered.)  This was much nicer.  I tied my hair up in a towel (like all girls do that men just can’t ever seem to replicate) and let it dry a bit while I dressed.  I pulled off the towel and added a dime size amount of Straight Perfecting Balm.  (A dime size is what the bottle says and obviously we women never use that amount so I gt as close as possible.  I have shoulder length-ish hair and it was plenty so I highly recommend trying to stay as close to the dime size as possible.)  I pulled out my handy-dandy blow dryer from 1900 and went to down.  Usually I let my hair air dry over night and fixing it in the morning but I had an event to go to so I figured I’d try to look presentable.  So I took the (unbearably hot) 30 minutes to blow it out trying to section off chunks instead of just drying it with my head hung upside down like I usually do.  I was shocked at how well it turned out.  My hair felt smooth and had minimal frizz (I don’t use combs or roll brushes when drying just my hands which probably caused the small amount of frizz that I noticed) and it looked great.

The one thing I did notice right off the bat was a slight dull to my new color, but that may have been from the blow dryer and the fact that it was still slightly damp.  However, and this is a HUGE however, I let my hair go the 48 hours without washing it again.  Now, maybe it’s just me or my work conditions, but I can’t ever go a day without washing my hair.  It looks and feels greasy and any product I do use (including dry shampoo) just seems to make it worse and the Straight Perfecting Balm had me assuming that the next morning would be a mess.  My hair was shiny but not greasy looking and soft to the touch the next morning.  It was still straight and didn’t have any extra frizz (which you girls like me who sleep like a person having a seizure know what I’m talking about) and it looked and felt like nothing was even in my hair.  I was shocked!  I’ve never been able to have hair like this before.  The Pre-Conditioner is a once a week regimen, which is nice because I’m not great with long drawn out beauty regimens so being able to have beautiful hair all week without having to follow the full 4 step process is awesome.

So here’s my over-all review of the L’Oreal Paris Smooth Intense Ultimate Straight Shampoo, Pre-Conditioner, Conditioner, and Straight Perfecting Balm:  If you have hair GO BUY THIS NOW!!!  I’m usually not easily impressed with most hair care products but L’Oreal Paris has really gotten something right with the Ultimate Straight line including the fact that it smells great too!  If you want your hair to look absolutely amazing (and for 2 days I might add) then seriously go buy this product!

* This product was sent to me by Influenster free for testing purposes.


…I’m Down With the Clown

 (photo courtesy of

Let me get one thing straight: I’m not a Juggalette .  Most people don’t know much about the Insane Clown Posse or their affiliated groups associated with Psychopathic Records.  They hear about them in the news on the few occasions that ICP makes it on, usually when their diehard followers do something stupid.  Recently the United States Government has categorized Juggalos and Juggalettes as a gang, much like the Bloods, the Crips, etc.  (For those of you who are unsure of what those terms mean, let me explain.  ICP, Twiztid, and their affiliate groups associate themselves as Juggalos.  Their listeners call themselves that as well.  A Juggalette is the female version.  A better explanation can be found here –> .)

The majority of people to speak out against ICP and Psychopathic Records couldn’t quote a verse from any song nor could they name a song other than to mention something regarding “Chickin’ Huntin'” which is a popular song regarding bigotry.  Whenever I ask people why they dislike them, they never have a genuine reason other than they’re stupid, which in my opinion is the most childish answer without a real reason to back it up but a definite conversation ender.

I have listened to ICP, Twiztid, and the affiliated Psychopathic Records artists since I was 14.  My mom knew I listened to them but still to this day has never listened to them herself.  I’ll give credit where it’s due; she has never said a bad word about them.  My husband has heard a few of their songs.  He has an undefinable hatred for them and all Psychopathic Records affiliates.  He refuses to listen even for a moment, and I respect that and no longer play their music within audible distance of him.  It’s a discussion we often avoid because it’s an argument that will never be won by either side.

I own every CD, all of the “Cards”, and the LP’s.  One of the characteristics of a Juggalo/Lette is a painted face mimicking a clown, usually with black and white paint but occasionally using blue and red.  Every affiliate of Psychopathic Records paints their face in the same fashion.  I DO NOT paint my face.  I don’t wear their clothing (although I have in the past).  I don’t associate with any Juggalos (although in High School the majority of my friends did consider themselves to be Juggalos).

The majority of the population considers ICP to be a “bad influence” on today’s youth.  I agree that the lyrics are riddled with obscene language and violent metaphors.  However if you look past the curse words and examine the metaphors, ICP and Psychopathic Records actually do send some good messages.  For instance: in the song “Hall of Illusions”, ICP makes the point that bigotry, abuse, and alcoholism are all horrible things that ruin your life and the lives of those around you.  In the song “How I Live” by Twiztid feat. Proof they state, “I was raised with the knowledge that you gotta do what you gotta to get paid”, making the point that sometimes you’re put in a bad situation but keep going and do what you have to do.

ICP preaches the importance of Family and they understand that their demographic of listeners may not have good relationships with their blood family.  ICP tells their listeners that Family isn’t blood, it’s emotional support.  They have created their own Family.  People relate that to Charles Manson and his Family.  ICP and Psychopathic Records have never asked their listeners to kill for them.  Nor have they attempted to brain wash their listeners into believing that some war was coming or that they needed to take refuge in the desert.  In fact it’s quite the opposite.  Amid the obscene language lies the message that you are not alone and that they understand what you’re feeling, a trait common in all music but portrayed differently depending on the demographic and although it may be tough to find that message underneath the makeup it still remains.  And the demographic, in this case, is very important.  ICP plays to kids that are considered to be “at-risk”.  The obscene language appeals to them, and sometimes, especially when you’re having a bad day, screaming “Fuck You” at the top of your lungs just makes it all better, no matter who you are or where you came from.  That’s the point.  ICP gives their demographic an outlet for all the things that they’re feeling inside.  School sucks, friends are few and far between, and when you try to explain what’s inside no one understands, but ICP does.  They understand how you feel like you could just lose your mind and break everything and they give an outlet for that emotion where no one gets hurt.

But don’t think I have dismissed the inexcusable actions of some Juggalos.  I understand that a lot of people have painted their face, threw on a pair of Tripp pants and gone on a spree of destruction, all while calling themselves Juggalos and saying ignorant things like “ICP sang about it so I thought it was ok,” or “I did it for the Family”.  These are kids that truly are “at-risk” and should have been intervened with years ago, and for that I blame the parents and school officials.  It’s their job to recognize the signs that a child may need some guidance in life before they decide to dismember cats and blow up gas stations.  If these same kids would have found Marilyn Manson instead of ICP they still would have done the same things but blamed it on Manson.  If they had listened to Rob Zombie they would have blamed it on his music.  Hell, if they would have listened to Tupac they would have done the same things.  Saying that music made you do something is a cop-out and blaming ICP or the term Juggalo for what a few people did is no different.

Music, people, books do not make us do anything; we make our own choices no matter how mentally weak we may be at that moment.  No one went around saying that Bible Thumpers were a cult or a gang when they decided to burn thousands of copies of Harry Potter because the bible claimed it to be witch craft.  Granted, their offense wasn’t as violent as what some Juggalos have done, but the concept is the same.  The government never publicly announced that the Westboror Baptist Church was a gang and they went around protesting War Veteran’s funerals and harassing their families.  They also terrorized homosexuals claiming that they were going to Hell for sinning.

What the government seems to always leave out when on the subject of Juggalos and ICP is the good they have done in the community.  Juggalos Making a Difference (J.M.A.D.) is a group in Denver, Colorado is a charity that helps with food drives, clothing and toys for the homeless and those who need help.  The Dead Stephanie Memorial Cleanup was created in 2008 by the The Juggalo Cleanup Crew in Florida to pick up trash in honor of Stephanie Harris, a high school student who dies of diabetes.  In 2010 Psychopathic Records organized a Toy Drive to benefit children from underprivileged families.  In 2014 ICP put on a charity concert in Ohio where all proceeds when to the family of Aaron Spencer, a Juggalo who died from a debilitating illness.  In Buffalo, New York the Hatchet House and Community Outreach started cleaning up Buffalo’s East Side and created a 24/7 help line that refers community members in crisis to services and also serves as a base of operations for volunteer work and community service programs.  These are the things that the news never wants to tell you; the good things that Juggalos do.

As of January, 2014 ICP and the American Civil Liberties Union of Michigan filed a suit against the FBI to remove Juggalos from the gang list and all documents collected by the CIA on Juggalos to be destroyed.  They also created   to give people an outlet to tell their stories about unfair treatment they have received by law enforcement for being considered a Juggalo.

The bottom line of all this is that just because someone paints their face, listens to music that you may see as violent or ignorant, and calls themself a Juggalo doesn’t mean they are evil or violent or a bad person.  It just means that they have a family that they want to show to the world because they are proud of who they are and what they believe.  It’s no different from any other group.  You can’t let a few bad people define a group.  If we did, then everyone who listens to Elvis Presley would be some weird sex addict rebels and girls who idolize Miley Cyrus would be trashy whores.  The point is that you can’t judge a person by the music they like, the way they dress, or the people they hang out with and the same goes for the people who listen to ICP, wear their clothing, or paint their faces in admiration.

I know a lot of people who listen to ICP and you’d never know it by looking at them.  I know lawyers, bankers, police officers all who not only listen to ICP but own their CD’s and memorabilia.  You’d never know it by looking at them and because of that they never deal with any hassle from people who claim to know just how bad ICP and their followers are.  It says a lot about people who claim that people who like ICP are horrible, evil, violent freaks who are just out to destroy everything in their path.

I’ll end this on a simple note: I am a successful, well-educated, professional person.  I am employed, own a nice vehicle, and am married.  I have a high credit score and a loving family.  I don’t kill people or try to burn down buildings.  I don’t have a criminal record and I’ve never been to jail.  I am not a Juggalette, but I am down with the clown.


When you wonder where the years went, and then you realize how old you sound when you say it out loud and you’re only 23.  Then you realize, “Wow, I’m 23.  Where have I been?  Where am I going?  What have I done?”  And then you realize, “I’ve been nowhere, gone in circles, and done nothing.”

It sounds like a tiny voice inside your head screaming so softly that all you can feel is the vibrations rattling your skull but you’re not sure what the words are.  It’s a little like standing right next to the speaker at a concert.  You can feel it deep in your soul but you can’t make it out.  Is it even really screaming?  Are there even any words at all?

You begin to question everything around you.  Is any of this real?  Am I really even here or is this some twisted version of The Matrix?  Suddenly you think, “Oh my god!  What if I’m actually in a coma and this isn’t even life, but a coma dream?”  You pinch yourself before you realize that how would you know if it would even wake you up?  You’ve never been in a coma before.  You wouldn’t.  So maybe this isn’t life.  Maybe it’s a lie and you just made it up in coma land.  Maybe this is a bad coma dream world that you’ve created and you didn’t even know it.  How would you know if it wasn’t?

Then a song comes on and it brings you a memory but before you can fully enjoy the memory you wonder if it ever even happened or if your mind is just fucking with you, creating a life that never existed.  Would you be able to tell if you were closer to life, or closer to death?  Does death even exist, or did your brain make that up too?  Is anything real?  You wouldn’t know.

You start to look at everything around you differently, looking for inconsistencies that may lie just beyond your eye sight.  You look in the mirror every day for some flicker of change that wasn’t there before but you can’t remember if it was there yesterday.  Was there ten minutes ago?  You look at your walls, your bed, your hair and wonder if they were there before and maybe you just didn’t notice.  You wake up and look for signs of change, but you can’t remember if there are any.

You start to chew over your words because now they don’t sound right in your mouth.  Everything looks the same, sounds the same but it’s not and you can’t tell why.  Everyday molds into another and it’s all the same except it’s not and you can’t explain how.  Your words back up on your tongue and won’t release from your lips but you say them anyway just to see how they feel.  Are they different?  Is today different?  You can’t tell, but maybe.

Your scared.  Are you real?  Is anything real?  How can you tell if your alive or dead or in a coma?  Is this a dream?  If you jumped in front of that moving bus would you die?  Or would it bring you out of the coma?  Or would you get back up and walk away?  Would you be fine again?  Would anything change?  You wouldn’t know.

Is this normal?  Does anyone around you think these things?  Are you even thinking these things right now?  Or is that just the coma talking?  Are you so much more?  Or so much less?  Who, what can you trust?  Is anything real?  Is anything normal?  Are we all bags of flesh strung up in some old warehouse waiting to rot?  Are we flowers stuck beneath the dirt waiting to bloom?  Would we ever know?

Where have the years gone?  Where have I been?  Where have I gone?  What have I done?  Would I ever know?

A.W. – Closure

March 12th was the day you died.  You were so young and intelligent and artistic.  It has been so many years since you left my reality but I remember you as though I had stared at you for an eternity.  Your smile, you’re laugh, your bleach splattered work pants.  I remember all of the emotions I had for you, when I was around you.  I remember holding your hand though the haunted house on 17th and that old abandoned restaurant outside of town.  I remember you as though you never left.

I never told you how I felt and neither did you, but we both knew I believe.  I have to believe that, otherwise I would go crazy at the thought of knowing that I could never tell you.  I still know, so many years late, that I should have, could have done more and I didn’t.  I didn’t place the importance on the situation that I should have.  I betrayed you by not trying harder that night and it eats a tiny part of me everyday.  But I have to belive that you know that.  I have to believe that you know or I’ll go crazy.

I was so young.  We were both so lost in this crazy big world but we didn’t care, at least that’s what I thought until the next day, the day after I should have tried harder.  If I had then maybe you would be here and I wouldn’t be asking myself what if all of the time.  I didn’t know.  I didn’t know until the next day.  Until it was too late.  If I had…

Sometimes everything comes out all at once and it’s hard to push it back down.  I forgive you.  In fact I never blamed you at all.  I pushed everything down for as long as I could because I didn’t want to face it.  I wasn’t sure that I could.  No one understood.  We were all … ambushed and we didn’t know what to do.  I was so young and I didn’t know.  I know now and now it’s too late.  The next day it was too late and every day after it’s too late.  But I have to believe that you know.

I know now and I cherish that.  I hold dear the memories we had.  Sometimes I sit and think when no one is looking and relive those times in my mind.  I believe that you do that too.  I have to believe.  Sometimes I’ll drive passed something or hear a song and it all comes flooding back to my mind all those things from you and me.  The late night youtube videos and adventures.  The Friday the 13th escapades.  All those damn dishes.  The douchey cooks.  The knives in the prep kitchen.

I know that you know.  Sometimes my selfishness takes over and in my head I scream that you come back, just for a minute, just so I can see your face or hear your voice.  I damn you for leaving me here, leaving me with all these questions that I can’t ever ask you.  I scream at everything because I couldn’t save you.  I know that you know.  I have to, or I’d go crazy.

I miss you every day.  I don’t know if this earthly internet signal will ever reach you or if you even have the time you read this in your eternal sanctuary, but I have to believe that it will.  If I don’t…

A.W. – January 27th, 1985 to March 12th, 2007

The Girl on the Corner

We are the hated ones,

The ones you steal, the ones you kill.

We are the beaten ones,

The ones you spurn, the ones you burn.

We are the dirty ones,

The ones you trash, the ones you bash.

We are the broken ones,

The ones you crush, the ones you flush.

We are the tortured ones,

The ones you berate, the ones that you hate.

We are the menial ones,

The ones you destroy, the ones you annoy.

We are the ugly ones,

The ones you love to push and shove.

We are the nasty, evil, little people,

Hanging low beneath the steeple,

Swinging high above you evil,

Nasty, dirty, selfish people,

Nose so high in the air,

Our wretched death is everywhere,

And when you see the hated ones,

You’ll know that death has just begun.

We are the ugly, broken beings,

The ones you tie on ends of strings.

We are the puppets, soulless, sad,

We’re still the best you’ve ever had.